


Enough

by allisondraste



Series: Faded Moments [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Solavellan Angst, kind of character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisondraste/pseuds/allisondraste
Summary: From a prompt on the Tumblr.Solas always knew she would be the death of him.  Although, he had expected it to be more figurative than literal.





	Enough

The chase was never ending, never resting.  It stalked him in the night like the wolf he was supposed to be.  _Fen’Hare_ l. It was an ironic name for someone so afraid, though, he was not without proper reason. His opponent was fearsome and relentless, indomitable. A bitter laugh escaped him at the thought of his own heart being his demise. **  
**

Niamh would not let him do what he intended. She swore, and to that moment, she had been successful in her efforts to deter him. It was truly impressive how she had managed to counter his every move. She was a force to be reckoned with, and if he were honest with himself, he was tired of reckoning.

“Solas,” a commanding voice called him from several feet away. He had remained in one place too long, it seemed. He should have been more careful.

She did not allow him so much as a breath before she ran at him.  She was a mage. She could have used magic to incapacitate him, she could have caught him unaware, but that was not Niamh’s way. She preferred that he hear her, see her. She fought fearlessly, and without etiquette.

Before he could think to move, she tackled him, knocking him off balance and sending them both tumbling to the ground with her atop him.  She scowled, her face contorted by fury, as she held her fist back, trembling.

Solas did not fight her. He could not bring himself to even make an attempt to escape from beneath her. He simply smiled, wondering if it appeared as tired and weary as he felt it should.

“Fight me, Solas,” she yelled, her tone raw. He looked more closely, now able to see the desperation and hurt behind her eyes that he had mistaken as fury at first. For all her anger, she looked so sad.

“I  _can’t_ ,” he answered her, remembering a time when he had uttered those same words to her, words that hardened her heart. All of her edges, once soft for him, now sharp against him. It was terrifying and it was beautiful. She was still so beautiful.

A sudden, intense pain shot through his nose, followed by a dull throb and trickle of warm blood. He should have expected it. What a foolish mistake to underestimate her ferocity. Of course she hit him! Niamh had never been one for restraint, after all.

Shaking off the pain and bewilderment, he refocused his vision just in time to see her pulling back her arm to strike again. He grabbed her wrist and stopped the blow. The look in her eyes became desperate as she had no other hand with which to swing.  He made no move to continue the fight.

“Fight me, damn you!” Tears were flowing freely as she yelled. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? For me to be angry? It’s easier to kill someone who hates you, right?” Her tired body trembled against him, fueled only by her rage.

“This is far from anything I wanted,  _vhenan_ ,” he sighed, wiping the blood from his lip with his unoccupied hand.

“Don’t,” Niamh spat as she moved to hit him again, but he held her wrist firmly in place, “Don’t call me that.” A surge of flame rushed from her hand, searing his palm and forcing him to release his grip. She readied herself to hit him again, and he rolled from beneath her as her fist made contact with the ground.

She groaned in pain as she sat up and pulled her hand close to her, knuckles swollen and bleeding.  There was no doubt it was fractured, and Solas fought with the nagging desire to tend to her, to heal her wounds as he always had.  Healing her might settle her or enrage her further, revitalizing her to attack him again. Still, as she sat slumped on the ground shaking, unable to even cradle her broken hand, he could not rid himself of his ill-advised impulse.

He moved closer to her, and she jerked away as if she expected him to retaliate.  He opened his now blistered palm for her to offer her hand. A flash of a happier time crossed his mind, when the gesture precluded a stolen dance on the balcony of a palace. It seemed so far away, another lifetime. Niamh tentatively and reluctantly placed her hand in his and he covered it with his other hand allowing magic to flow from him to her.

A wordless conversation passed between them as their eyes met.  For the first time in too long, he saw the blend of affection and uncertainty she always held in her eyes.

“Why?” The hurt in her voice was palpable as she searched his face for an answer. She clearly failed to understand that he still cared.  Perhaps he had failed to properly express such to her. “You refuse to fight me, then you heal me when you know damn well I could hit you again and not even feel sorry. You’re not stupid.”

“Perhaps it is the same reason that you fight with your hands when you know magic would be much more efficient.” He kept his gaze locked with hers allowing the spell to continue its course. “Perhaps it is because I take no pleasure in seeing you hurt, because I know I deserve every drop of your anger and resentment. Did you ever consider the possibility that regardless of what I must do, I still love you?”

She frowned as tears welled in her eyes. She leaned forward forcefully and pressed her lips against his.  The kiss was urgent and breathless, as if it were their last. Maybe it was.

She pulled away and rested her forehead against his. “ _Ar lath ma_.”  Her words were heavy and solemn.

“ _Ir abelas, vhenan_. If I could take everything back, I would,” Solas said, his voice almost a whisper. “I have had enough.”

“Me too,”  Niamh answered flatly, detached from her words. She opened her eyes again to look at him, and a burning pain seared through his abdomen, bringing a gasp from his throat.

Tearing his gaze from her and down toward the pain, a bright golden beam of energy in the shape of a great sword protruded from Niamh’s arm where the Anchor has been.  It pierced him entirely, and he looked to her in horror, his consciousness slipping from him as it became increasingly more difficult to breathe.

His vision faded to black as her apology, muttered through sobs, echoed in his ears.

Then, he awoke.

As his heart raced, and as he gasped desperately for air, he had never been more terrified. Whether it had been a spirit of the Fade or Niamh herself, dreaming from across the mountains, his  _dinan’shiral_  now had an ending. It was her.


End file.
